


My Light

by TheDragon



Series: Within the Darkness [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Captivity, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Magic Revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 19:38:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9252962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDragon/pseuds/TheDragon
Summary: Merlin doesn’t know how long he’s been here, alone, but there is one thing he is absolutely certain of — it’s been too long.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Avalon's Library Short Fics Fest 2017.
> 
> I was going to write another fic, but I kind of sort of ran out of time :)

Merlin doesn’t know how long he’s been here, alone, but there is one thing he is absolutely certain of — it’s been too long. He’s hurting _everywhere_ : all of the fingers of his left hand are broken, his wrists and ankles are bloody in the places the too-rough shackles are wrapped around them, he’s got at least three cracked ribs, and there’s a constant trickle of blood flowing into his right eye from a deep cut on his forehead.

And that’s not even the worst of his injuries.

He doesn’t even know what his captors want anymore — whether they actually _do_ want something, or are just torturing him for their own pleasure. It wouldn’t matter, anyway. The pain is one and the same, and nothing he says or does ever makes them stop. If anything, it makes them even more violent. He feels helpless.

He feels as though he’s slowly going insane.

Merlin is hazy and unfocused with the pain, drifting in and out of consciousness. These are the first minutes of peace he’s gotten in a long time, and he’s thankful for even the smallest possibility of rest. There’s no noise; there are no other prisoners in any of the surrounding cells, but the stench of blood and death is omnipresent.

He closes his eyes and tries to get some sleep. After all, who knows when they’ll be back? Back to ask questions and to punch and kick and _hurt_.

And he won’t be able to do anything to stop them.

No more than a few minutes pass before he hears footsteps in the long hall outside his small cell. Merlin tenses and curls in on himself, flinching as the motion makes the chains rattle.

_“I’ve found him!”_

Someone is shouting. It’s too loud — it echoes off the walls and reverberates throughout the hall. Merlin can’t discern the words, but they make him make him recoil nonetheless.

As the door to his cell is unlocked, he forces his eyes to open.

There are two of them — two men coming towards him, their steps hurried and purposeful. They’re coming for him, to take him upstairs and to bring him more pain, and Merlin hasn’t had enough time to recuperate, he won’t be able to handle it, he can’t he needs to do something he won’t be taken anywhere he won’t go anywhere with them _he needs to do something_ —

“Stay back!” Merlin forces out the words despite the pain in his throat, and he brings his trembling hand forward. With whatever is left of his strength, he conjures up a shield — nothing more than a flimsy barrier between him and the men — and pushes, trying to force the men back. It only stays up for a fraction of a second before the collar around his neck puts a stop to his shenanigans and the all-consuming pain is back. He cries out as it assaults him. His vision goes blurry and his ears begin to ring and he feels so cold without his magic, too cold, it’s not natural he wants it back he needs the collar off he needs to _get away_ —

 _“What in the world?!”_ One of the men shouts, his voice piercing through the fog of pain in Merlin’s head, reminding him of the presence of other people in his tiny little cell, and he starts trembling because there’s nothing he can do to make the pain stop, nothing he can do to prevent them from bringing about more pain than he can handle. He can’t go on like this.

 _“We need to get him out, Sire,”_ the other man replies, and then someone’s moving closer to him. Merlin tries to curl in on himself, tries to prepare his body for the punishment that will surely come because he used magic and that’s what they always do when he attempts to resist, but the man only gently lifts one of his shackled wrists. A moment later, the cuff snaps off with a ‘click’.

Merlin doesn’t know what’s going on.

_“Did you know about this?”_

His other wrist is afforded the same treatment as the first, followed by both ankles. Merlin’s limbs feel oddly light.

_“Now is not the time, Sire.”_

Next to go is his collar, and despite the other chains coming off, he’d never expected the man to take this off too. The minute it separates from his skin, he feels his magic rush back in. For the first time in a long time, he feels warm.

The other man moves closer and kneels in front of him. He runs a hand through Merlin’s filthy, bloodied hair before pushing the first man away. He wraps a long, red length of fabric around Merlin and gathers him into his arms.

It hurts — of course it does. Merlin’s too injured to be able to be moved painlessly, and he lets out a whimper when the man hauls him up and holds him against his chest. He wants to use magic again (because he _can_ now), to force the man away so that he’ll be left alone to heal and rest now that he’s free, but no — these men have helped him, have freed him, and he can’t bring himself to hurt them.

Not until they do something to deserve it.

He cradles his left hand to his chest and lets his head fall into the crook of the man’s neck. The man gently puts his lips to Merlin’s bloodied forehead. He smells like something familiar, but Merlin, for the life of him, can’t remember what it is.

_“I will be demanding an explanation.”_

_“Of course, Sire, but—”_

_“But for now, let’s focus on getting him home.”_

That’s it. Home. The man smells like home.


End file.
